


Late Nights Call for Tea

by phantxmic



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, M/M, Minor Violence, Nightmares, anatole drinks tea when he's stressed, i may write that as a bonus chapter, they totally fuck after this, we will see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantxmic/pseuds/phantxmic
Summary: As violent nightmares of his beloved plague his sleep, Anatole finds peaceful comfort in a soothing cup of tea while watching the moon. At least, until Dolokhov wakes up.





	Late Nights Call for Tea

Anatole spasmed awake in a cold sweat, gasping out as if all the air in his lungs had disappeared. He quickly sat up and pushed the silk sheet off of him, bringing his knees to his chest with wide blue eyes. Another nightmare filled with his loved one's screams. After going through a duel where Fedya not only missed, but got shot, Anatole couldn't sleep properly. Night after night his mind raced with images of Fedya falling to the ground and clutching his chest, the blood piercing screams rang through his ears as he was forced to watch some _barbarian_ shoot his love. 

Anatole felt the sheets shift and whipped his head around to see his lover simply turning around in his sleep. He sighed peacefully and slowly slunk out of the bed,shivering at the cold air. He wrapped himself in a fluffy robe that Dolokhov gifted him on his last birthday and quickly made his escape from the room. He slowly drifted across the glossy floor and took gentle steps down the stairs towards the kitchen, his eyes drifting across the counters to spot the nearest kettle. He quickly began to make himself a hot cup of tea, which was his drink of choice during these late nights.

He greatly enjoyed the solitude of the kitchen so late at night. He would stand in front of the window and watch the moonlit snow fall from the skies and nestle gently along the ground. Sometimes he’d see a bird or animal wandering around and he’d wonder what their life was like out there. Were they conscious of their mortality? Anatole frequently questioned this and once shared it with Fedya, who jokingly said he should become a philosopher. Anatole’s heart swelled with joy as he thought of his beloved. His beloved who was injured in bed with a bandage wrapped around his torso, sleeping so peacefully as if nothing was wrong. 

Anatole was just beginning to relish in the silence when he heard a soft creak from the stairs. He whipped around in surprise to see a slow moving Dolokhov heading down the stairs. “I was wondering where you ran off to.” He let out a husky chuckle and leaned against the door frame.

“Just...having a cup of tea.” Anatole stated simply, examining his lover. “You should be in bed, Fyodor.”

“Woke up when you closed the door, dearest.” Fedya murmured, “Couldn’t go back to sleep without you there.” His eyes nearly seemed to gleam in the dim room and it made Anatole chuckle to himself.

“Be careful, Fedya,” Anatole said as a faux warning, “You’re almost being affectionate towards me. You never know who could be watching from the window, or one of the servants could walk in on us.” He mocked the things he had said in the past.

“Oh hush you, do you want some company or not?” Fedya slowly and carefully made his way to him.

“Sure, dear.” Anatole bit his lip cautiously and watched him walk, holding his hands out in case. “Are you sure you’re okay? You did get shot in the side just a few days ago, you shouldn’t be walking so much.”

“I’m tougher than you think I am, Anatole, I’m not a boy anymore.”

“You’re a boy in a man’s body, darling, you’re just as reckless and stubborn as a child.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you kindly.” Fedya gave a small bow with a mischievous grin. Anatole gave a sigh of defeat and rolled his eyes.

“I’m only worrying about you, Fedya. You’re reckless and severely injured, I don’t want you hurting yourself.” Anatole watched his lover slowly lean back against the counter and lift the blonde’s hand up to kiss it gently. Anatole’s voice faltered slightly as he murmured, “You know how much I worry.”

Fedya’s scruff exterior seemed to soften as he heard how genuine Anatole’s words were spoken. “I’m aware, Anatole.” He gently pulled Anatole’s gaze towards him once more, his rough, calloused hand petting his soft cheek. “But you needn’t worry.”

“But I do!” Anatole exclaimed, pulling away a little. “Fyodor, you always tell me not to worry, you tell me you’ll be okay, but you never are! You come home each day with scars or a bullet lodged in your ribs! It’s hard to live with the guilt, Fedya, I feel like I can’t do anything to help you.”

Fedya remained silent in pondering, his typically furrowed brows relaxed as he attempted to calm the man. “Anatole, you know my injuries are never your fault, correct? I’m the one getting into fights, I’m well aware of my faults. I am reckless, and I am stubborn. I’m a fighter and a soldier.”

“And I saw you get _shot_ , Dolokhov!” Anatole grew increasingly more frustrated as he spoke. “I watched you fall to the ground, I heard you scream in pain! It haunts me throughout the day and night, I can’t handle your false promises, Fyodor.”

Something clicked in Fedya’s mind. “Are you...is this why you’re awake right now?” The eerie silence that filled the room solidified that answer. “Oh, Anatole...are you unable to sleep, or is it nightmares…?”

“Nightmares.” Anatole shakily confirmed. “Night after night, I lose one hour of sleep because a horrifying nightmare floods my subconscious. Over and over I watch you become impaled with a bullet - in your side, your chest, your head, everywhere - and I hear you scream in terror as the bullet pierces you. I watch you clutch the wound and collapse, yet I’m frozen on the ground. I’m only watching. All I can do is watch, I can never help, I-I can never do anything. I’m of no help, Dolokhov. Over and over I watch you on your last thread of life. It’s terrifying.” Anatole sounded exasperated at this point, fighting back the tears that brimmed in the corners of his blue eyes.

Fedya swiftly cupped his cheeks and brought him closer. “Anatole, darling, you mustn’t feel like that. My battles are my own, I wouldn’t want to weigh them on you.”

“If you come home injured, they _do_ weigh on me…” Anatole sniffled as one tear managed to escape.

“I understand that, but I have only been injured once in my lifetime as a result of my duels, correct?” Anatole gave a slow nod of agreement. “I was drunk, my aim was a bit sloppier than usual and I wasn’t on my guard. You know how good of a shot I am.” Fedya smirked cockily, letting his ego beam into view for a bit in an attempt to cheer Anatole up.

Anatole gave a soft exhale through his nose and smiled very slightly, “You’re a cocky bastard, Fedya.” The smile Anatole gave was brief as guilt once more washed over him. “I just wish I could help you when you need it.”

“You’re giving yourself far too little credit, Kuragin.” Fedya pointed out, now holding his hand and running his thumb along his palm. “Who was there when I was shot?”

“Me…”

“Who was the one to order the troika and take me to a doctor as fast as humanly possible?”

That seemed to have caught him off guard. “M-me.”

“Who tended to my wounds and insisted that he stay by my side until I could move functionally again?”

“Me.” Anatole smiled once more.

“You were always there for me, Anatole. You’re simply forgetting.” Fedya brought his hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Anatole cupped his cheek and sighed.

“I still wish I could have done more, Fedya.” He muttered, feeling his lover’s surprisingly soft cheek.

“You didn’t need to do any more than you did.” Fedya insisted, “All I truly needed was you by my side. You went above and beyond my expectations, as you always do. Remember when your father introduced us?”

Anatole let out a soft giggle. “Yeah. You weren’t anything like I anticipated. I was expecting a strong, burly man who was ten feet tall like my father seemed to describe you.”

“And I was expecting a young teen riddled with acne. Yet, I met you. A young man, more handsome than anyone in all of Russia.” Fedya grinned, watching the blush on his lover’s cheeks grow.

“Remember how Helene examined how we acted around each other? You would have terrible posture if anyone else was in the room, but if you saw me, you’d stand straight up!” Anatole laughed and covered his mouth shyly, leaning against the counter.

“I was eager to impress you, I didn’t want some damsel trying to swoop in and take the man I set my eyes on.” 

“No woman could ever have taken me from you, I wouldn’t have let them.” Anatole purred out and felt Fedya pull him closer by the waist. Fedya smirked and kissed his jawline chastely.

“And no one would ever dare keep us apart now. If they even tried, they’d have a bullet in their skull faster than you could count to three.” Fedya kept him close and held his hips, squeezing him gently.

“I love having a strong man to protect me.” Anatole wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed further against him. “My Fedya.” He murmured and began kissing his neck.

Fedya examined the fluffy robe Anatole had on and grunted gently as Anatole nipped at his neck. “You got anything on under there?” He spoke lower to add to the mood, his fingers dancing on the string that kept the robe around him.

“No…” Anatole murmured against his neck. Fedya said nothing and simply drifted his hands to Anatole’s ass, grabbing him and lifting him up to hoist him onto the counter.

“Good.”


End file.
